At the Sound of the Bell
Posted: August 4, 2011 Filed under: Noxious Evils, schnauzer follies, Writers Write | Tags: Trusting Your Instincts, writers, writing Leave a comment »The thing I hated most about school, as a student and as a teacher, was the clock. Instinctively, I fight it. I fight the deadline, the list, the routine. I have this inner James Dean, who says, “I won’t be controlled.” The defect extends to every corner of my life. I waste a lot of time asking myself: do I have to floss? put gas in the car? load the dishwasher? finish the day’s pages?
I know the answer, and I don’t like it.
In the summer of my discontent, brought on by global warming–you deniers out there should check the thermometer–and the unemployment rate, I find myself as rebellious as my dog on a leash. She resists, even when she wants to walk. For the dog I found a solution, a nifty device called the Gentle Leader. It’s a head collar that points a schnauzer’s nose in the right direction. I slip the loop over her muzzle, and she follows me everywhere.
For me, the solution is painful. I succumb to a schedule. From 7 to 8, coffee. From 8 to 9, exercise. From 9 to 10, journal and blog. At 10, the alarm on the laptop will tell me to work on the book.
It’s 9:55. Time to point my nose the right direction.
Badwill
Posted: April 24, 2011 Filed under: Noxious Evils, Writers Write Leave a comment »I wonder if this Michigan politician will forgo his paycheck to cut spending? I wonder where he buys his suits? Goodwill? The Salvation Army? Garage sales? This story is fodder for Little Orphan Annie or Lemony Snicket. Too bad he’s serious. Read here.
Not a Skunk
Posted: February 19, 2011 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Noxious Evils, Writers Write | Tags: family, perception, Trusting Your Instincts, writers, writing Leave a comment »I wore my shirt inside out most of the day yesterday. I got dressed in the dark because I didn’t want to wake Bacon. He’s on nights. I went for a two-mile walk. I took Coco’s inhaler to school and talked to Nurse Millie. I drove to a distant continent to buy veggies for the co-op. No one said anything.
On the way home I stopped for a train to pass. When I looked down, the buttons on my Henley weren’t visible. At first, I didn’t get it. Then, I laughed. People must think I’m crazy. My hair was wild–long and gray. My glasses were perched on my head. My clothes were inside out.
We are not meant to be nocturnal. Man is not a skunk wandering for miles in the dark. We need to see where we’re going. I don’t know the future, but it’s not building cars in a factory at night.
